


oh that boy's gonna break my heart

by swingsetjunkie



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids, Bodyguard, Bodyguard Connor, Connor Deserves Happiness, Detective Connor, Detectives, Father-Son Relationship, Gay Robots, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Markus Deserves Happiness, Robot Feelings, Robot Sex, Robots, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Terrorism, hank is Done with this shit, sumo deserves all the pets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-18 20:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14859479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swingsetjunkie/pseuds/swingsetjunkie
Summary: set post-game. terrorists start targeting high-profile android politicians, and, as ever, connor and hank get dragged right into the middle of it.





	1. because i'm addicted

Detroit becomes the center of android civilization, when everything's said and done. Humans still live in the city, but they aren't the majority, not anymore. There are a few stalwart groups that seem intent on spearheading good relations with their new residents, but a majority of the population is still...Adjusting. DPD becomes a mixed force of androids and humans, people that diligently protect their new community- android-related crimes have punishments, now, and people are angry, so angry-

They have a lot of work to do, almost nonstop, but as time passes, progress presses on.

A human and android elected council decide on new laws for the city, then eventually the state- and the federal government follows, equal rights being granted at a creeping pace. Connor starts getting paid, credits deposited directly to his brand new personal bank account; he doesn't spend the money, not really, just buys Hank a drink or lunch here and there after their shifts are done. He had thought to rent an apartment, something that wasn't a storage locker in the freshly-converted Cyberlife HQ, but Hank had strongarmed him into staying at his house, charging station set up in the spare room with Connor's meager possessions.

Cole's old room, Connor knows, and can't help but feel hopelessly humbled by Hank's generosity.

Connor is...happy, content. He's a detective now, and still Hank's partner. It's good for both of them, really. Hank's behavior has stabilized ever since he moved in, never getting too drunk, never playing Russian roulette, and it's...incredibly pleasing to know that Hank is better, healthier, because of him. He's been learning a lot, since becoming a deviant, and Hank is always willing to lend a hand or an ear whenever Connor has questions. They work together well, professionally and personally.

He's on his way home from the precinct- scanning through a series of fresh news articles he'd downloaded earlier- when he gets the call. He immediately stops his taxi, inputting new directions. He fires off a text to Hank, lips thinning as he summarizes the report.

_Assassination attempt made at the Capitol Building. Anti-android terrorist group HERA has claimed the attack. A bomb was set off in the main entry hall. No casualties reported so far, but we're being assigned to investigate._

The report doesn't mention who had been the target of the attack nor what kind of weapons had been used to cause the explosion, and something like intuition tells Connor that this is...bad news.

Hank texts him back an affirmative and an _I'll meet you there_ , and Connor sits back, drawing up the case files as they're sent to him. They'll be the first people there besides first-responders and SWAT, and so far everything has been kept very hush-hush- no news outlets have reported anything, and DPD has set up a perimeter around the building. No one has been permitted out since the explosion, and only medical staff, police, and other necessary personnel have been allowed in.

Frowning, Connor draws out a coin from one of his pockets, rolling it over and between his knuckles. The motion, as ever, soothes his racing processors; he focuses, methodically going through each piece of information as it is presented to him. A single suspect was apprehended at the scene, though there are reports of up to four people being involved in the attempt; the human apprehended had resisted all forms of interrogation at the scene and is already on their way to the precinct. They'll be able to interrogate them themselves after checking out the crime scene and interviewing witnesses.

The Capitol Building is wreathed by DPD and SWAT vehicles when Connor arrives; he slides out of his taxi and immediately heads for the main entrance, flashing his badge at the officer guarding the door. The man nods, letting him through, and Connor steps inside to chaos. Androids and humans alike are ferrying wounded down the cracked and collapsed main stair- he doesn't believe for a second that there have been no casualties, not with the substantial damage to the building itself.

Sweeping his gaze around, Connor catches sight of several first-responders working near the rubble of the main stairway, temporary computer stations set up next to what looked to be where EMTs were treating humans and androids alike. A familiar face stands out from the crowd- SWAT Captain Allen- and Connor hurries over, extending a hand for the man to shake. They've worked together several times, now- Allen still holds reservations against androids, but he's...Adjusted. Connor is grateful.

"Connor. I assume Anderson is on his way?"

"Affirmative. He was at home when I received the call; his eta is...ten minutes. What happened here?" Connor casts a glance around again, brow furrowing. The blast radius of the explosion seemed to be centered between the second and third floor, where several offices were housed; the grand stairway was collapsed, blocking most entry to the third floor and above- only back stairwells and staff-only elevators would offer a chance to ascend to higher floors until they fixed the stairway, provided they weren't destroyed.

"Was the bomb detonated on the second floor, Captain? What offices were most affected by the explosion?"

Allen hands him a tablet, grimacing. "This is what I've got. No one's managed to get higher than the second floor since the explosion took out all entrances. I've got one man on the way to DPD, but we haven't found anyone else. The explosion seems to have been centered around android offices."

"Any casualties?"

"We haven't been able to get in to the most damaged rooms, but so far only injuries. The only thing is," and here Allen pauses, glancing around, "We haven't found Markus or his retinue yet. Josh is here- he wasn't with them. He was supposed to be meeting Simon and North with Markus in the office today, and-"

Connor immediately turns away, mapping a route to ascend to the second floor without interrupting rescue efforts. He hands Allen's tablet back, frowning. "Thank you, Captain. When Anderson arrives, please try to keep him out of trouble for me," he says, and takes a running leap at one of the collapsed pillars that line the room. He can hear Allen shouting after him, but he doesn't stop, climbing to the second floor with ease.

Markus' office is deep within the destruction, and Connor cannot waste time.

A204, A205, A206- there. A fallen beam and several chunks of ceiling block the door to Markus' office, which has collapsed inward slightly; Connor lifts pieces out of the way quickly, careful not to disturb the rubble overmuch- the building is still unstable, and the rain of pebbles from above when he maneuvers the steel beam out of the way is not promising.

"Markus?" he calls, yanking the door forward and out of its hinges; there should be three androids in this room- Markus, North, and Simon- and he sees none, only a massive pile of rubble. The explosion was detonated directly above this room, Connor notes, not on the second floor itself- he can see where the ceiling has collapsed down from the floor above, furniture and glass strewn around.

"North? Simon?"

An answering groan, a "We're here," almost too quiet to hear, has Connor digging furiously through the rubble. He uncovers North and Simon first, both of them levered against a massive piece of concrete- holding it up together through sheer force alone. Connor immediately throws himself against it, pushing with the other two until it slides back and off of them; the rumble from the floor and ceiling above is menacing enough that he does a quick scan of the room. Stability failing, his systems read, and something like panic cuts into his gut.

"Where's Markus?"

As one, North and Simon turn to the rubble pile, eyes wide- and despite their injuries, they immediately begin aiding him in digging. The floor is rumbling by the time they uncover him, cracked and unconscious but otherwise seemingly unhurt, and Connor does a quick scan as they heave him from the wreckage- both of Markus' legs will have to be replaced, though he should have limited use of them for a short period of time before they break down completely, and his thirium pump regulator is slowly failing- but all of this is repairable, so he simply hoists Markus over his shoulder and runs, North and Simon following close behind.

"Faster! The building's collapsing!" he cries, and hears North swear behind him.

The floor creaks and rocks behind them, and suddenly it's collapsing downwards all around him- North and Simon hurtle past, and, as the ground disappears under Connor's feet, he throws Markus into their waiting arms, eyes closing as he falls-

An old habit, uploading his memory, especially when there aren't any RK800s left to take his place, but it gives him some measure of comfort before he's crashing down, down, rubble falling after him in a clamor of sound and crushing pain. He loses consciousness only when a chunk of ceiling lands directly on his torso, slamming him into the rubble below.

 

A jolt of electricity and consciousness returns, followed by sound input and a flash of light, bright enough to sear his optical sensors- he grimaces, and the sounds around him abruptly mute- only to return in increased volume and pitch. The taste of ozone spreads through his oral receptors, sharp and thick, and he swallows, throat dry and aching. So he's alive, after all. It's...a reassuring thought. He's made some kind of peace with death long ago, but he still...there is a fear, deep inside him, that he cannot entirely ignore.

A touch, skin on skin, and suddenly he is not alone in his head. Markus. _You idiot_ , the other android says, and a wave of guilt-fear-glad-you-made-it rushes through Connor's system, shocking his eyes open. He is laid out on a cot, blue and white lights surrounding him- Cyberlife HQ, his database provides- and Markus is bent over him, hand resting gently, so gently, upon his cheek. "You're okay," Connor observes, and winces as his voice emerges in a tangle of buzzes and pitches. A quick diagnostic tells him that several of his limbs have been replaced, as well as several biocomponents. His vocal processor is brand new and untuned, and he quickly runs the programs necessary to adjust his parts to his preferred specifications.

Markus watches him, mismatched eyes piercing and...Connor has disappointed him, somehow. Markus has always been complex, more nuanced, and Connor can't figure out why he looks so angry. Processors whirring, he looks for something- anything- to say to break the silence.

"You're upset," he finally decides, because his preference has always been addressing the problems right in front of him. Markus' hand, he notes, still rests on his face. It's a touch meant to comfort, he thinks, and doesn't shake him off. "Why?"

"When we recovered you," Markus says, voice pitched low, and his other hand cups Connor's other cheek, trapping his gaze, making their eyes meet, "you were in pieces. _Pieces_. You're lucky to be alive, Connor. Lucky Cyberlife still has RK800 components, even if there aren't any other full models like you. Lucky Anderson arrived when he did, because he keeps spare RK800 parts on his person- unlike you- and lucky he had an RK800 thirium pump regulator in his jacket."

Connor processes this, then sits up; Markus' hands follow him, tilting his chin up to keep eye contact with the android leader. "I-"

Markus cuts him off with a pulse of information from his hands, skin melting away to android white- his face must be doing the same, he knows, where Markus is touching him. Sensory input is hard to parse, even from androids, but the memory is strong- himself, in pieces, half-buried under rubble and debris from the second floor. Markus sends him a gut-wrenching pulse of fear and guilt, overwhelming guilt, and shows him being unburied, Markus' hands working beside all the rest to get him out.

"I think that you think that you're disposable, that I am somehow more important than you- and that's not true. Our people look up to you, Connor, the same way they do me- we're both leaders, in our own ways." Markus' voice is soft, even-toned despite the surge of data and emotion he's feeding directly into Connor's brain, synapses firing and processing. "You need to make your decisions with that in mind. Don't risk yourself for me when it could mean your own destruction. That's foolish."

"I...I have to do my job, Markus," Connor replies after a moment, and Markus withdraws with a sigh. A twinge of something- regret?- frissions through Connor at the loss of contact, but he pushes the emotion aside. A notification flickers across his view- _new assignment received_ \- and he heaves himself to his feet, testing each new leg carefully before taking a few tentative steps. "I've been reassigned," he says, glancing over at Markus, "in order to properly assist in the investigation surrounding the explosion at the Capitol Building, Lt. Anderson and I will be escorting you to all functions, and will be part of the guard rotation around your apartment."

Markus scowls, opening his mouth to- Connor assumes- protest just as Hank bursts into the room, heaving and gasping for breath. "Connor! Heard you finally woke up. What the goddamn hell were you thinking, son-"

Connor turns his attention to Hank, dredging up a smile. "I'm okay, Hank," he starts, but is cut off by a wave of the man's hand.

"The _hell_ you are! They found you in six pieces, Connor, almost dead, all because you couldn't wait for instructions like usual, ya self-important prick, we could've had ten people up there shifting rubble in five more minutes, and that's not even the _least_ of it!" Connor tunes him out only to find that Markus has vanished, door sweeping closed behind him. "Are you even listening to me?" Hank grabs his shoulders, shaking him slightly.

"Yes. Sorry, Hank. I...I let my emotions get in the way of my processing. I didn't think, just acted- Markus was in danger," he says, almost pleading for Hank to understand, and the man's frown deepens. "Sorry. He's my...friend? I couldn't let him die,"

Hank sighs, stepping back, and rubs a hand across his eyes. "Just don't- don't do this to me, Connor. You don't get to just come back after you die, not anymore. Learn some self-preservation, goddamnit."

"I'll try, Hank. We should go, though- Markus has left the building without us, and we are the current assigned guard rotation. He's taking a taxi programmed to head downtown- I assume he's headed for his new office at DPD headquarters."

"Shit," Hank swears, turning. "Guy doesn't waste any time, does he?"

"No," Connor sighs, straightening his tie, "he doesn't seem to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a While since i've written any fanfiction but this game just really got me good, man. robots. i'll be doing my best to stick to canon and stuff as far as robo-lore goes but there's only so many resources i can scour before i give up and start making up bs by myself so if i do something that's like incredibly not in the realm of canon that's...that's why. please let me know if shit's weird friends


	2. sinkin in your fingertips

Markus leaves the Cyberlife warehouse quickly, sliding into a waiting taxi. He feels wrung-out. Connor has always had that effect on him- draining and overwhelming at the same time- but connecting to his neural network was… Connor feels emotion differently than he does. Markus' emotions well up from what feels like a pool inside him, all rooted in every lesson he ever learned from Carl.

Connor's emotions explode into being like a bullet from a gun, violent and almost too intense for comprehension. He feels things _differently_ , and it's...interesting.

It's food for thought. Maybe the path to deviancy determines how an android processes emotion and stimuli. Maybe each model has a baseline for processing information, and Connor's Cyberlife upgrades just make him different. Maybe every android is unique. Like humans. When all this is over, he can organize some kind of study. It's been over two years since he led the revolution here in Detroit, but with Kamski staying out of the picture and unwilling to speak on android sentience, they don't have many answers. Someday, he's sure they will.

But first, there's an overwhelming amount of work to do. His temporary office is inside DPD Headquarters, though this is his first visit. He's been busy giving his account of what happened at the Capitol Building and working overtime to reassure the population of Detroit that everything's going to be okay. He hasn't gone home yet, hasn't slept (though he doesn't _really_ need to; he just hasn't sat down to manually calibrate and charge), hasn't stopped working since he woke up on the floor of the Capitol Building with two new legs and a lot of people to talk to.

The only people he's been allowed to see are North, Simon, Josh, and his bodyguards. Tonight was the last day of his forced solitude, and he's not sure if he's ready to face the world quite yet. Having a bodyguards is exhausting, and it's only been two days. He's not looking forward to  being surrounded by people where he does his work, where he prefers some measure of solitude, is… It's not ideal for him, nor for his quality of work. With Connor and Lieutenant Anderson assigned to his guard rotation, though, he might find it more bearable. He hasn't had much contact with either of them since the revolution succeeded, though he's seen them out and about.

Thinking about it now, maybe he should have reached out earlier. Connor was part of Jericho too, at the end of the day; he'd saved them all, and overcame impossible odds to do it.

They'll be seeing each other a lot now, though, and Markus is glad. He'll keep an eye on him; Connor's worrying lack of self-preservation in the face of danger is troubling at best. The image of the RK800 in pieces, buried under rubble, flashes from his memory. It had been his fault- but no. He couldn't blame himself for everything, even if he feels so incredibly _guilty_ that it feels like a weight on every breath. He can't even really blame himself for not trying hard enough to make groups like HERA understand- there just hasn't been enough time. They have to keep pushing for peace, for android rights, to make them understand.

Human terrorists were expected from the beginning, but Markus doesn't want to kill them, doesn't want them put to death for their crimes- he wants them to accept them, as unlikely and naive as it may seem. He can… He can forgive them, when they do. But now, he allows himself a small amount of anger, of fear; not for his life, but for those around him. Is it always going to be this way- will everyone he gets close to paint a target on their back? This is the first time he's personally been targeted, but it's certainly not going to be the last time. Grief, guilt, fear. What does this mean for his few friends? His comrades? He can't walk away from them, not now, but when his very existence puts theirs in danger.

He didn't ask for this.

But now that it's happening, he'll find a way to deal with it.

 

The taxi pulls up to DPD HQ and he gets out, straightening his tie. Simon had been the one to recommend a change in wardrobe from his previous Jericho outfits, instead filling the closet of his brand new apartment with suits, ties, and business casual wear. He has five different full suits, eight different pairs of jeans, an uncountable amount of shirts, and what feels like a million different ties; it feels superfluous, owning so many articles of clothing, but even North had agreed upon the necessity. The more he can appeal to their human peers, the better.

It does give him a feeling of authority, in the end, which is a comfort as he ascends the steps toward the main entrance. Like he could potentially belong here, among the bustle in and out of the precinct. He has a new badge to get past security and the front desk, and he flashes it at the door. He's standing just inside, puzzling out where his office could be, when a hand lands on his shoulder.

Instinct takes over and he spins on contact, foot flying up in a roundhouse kick and _no,_ he's not in danger, what the _Hell_ is he doing-

His foot is caught between two hands easily, and warm brown eyes catch and hold his.

"Hello, Markus," Connor says, far too cheerfully for a man who almost got kicked in the face, and Markus feels his stomach drop. "I understand you're upset with me, but this," and here he gently shakes the foot in his grip before releasing it, "might be a little too aggressive even for me."

Markus feels terrible for all of three seconds before he realizes that Connor is _joking_ , grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, and he has to fight back a frown. "Apologies, Connor. It's been a long few days," he apologizes, and cringes internally at his tone. "Not that it's your fault. Sorry."  _G_ _od_. His motion had caught the eye of several people milling around the front of the building, and he feels embarrassment run hot and quicksilver-fast down his spine.

"No harm no foul. Though next time you decide to go haring off without us- or your assigned rota- I might kick you myself," Connor replies, all easy charm and smiles; his LED never flickers away from blue, steady and bright. Lieutenant Anderson bursts through the doors behind him before he can say more, disheveled and looking _extremely_ frustrated. His entrance, at least, takes the attention of those watching them, and by the looks on a few officers' faces, a dramatic entrance is Hank Anderson's style.

"Connor! We _talked_ about how I feel about you just hopping out of the car when it’s _still moving_ , didn't we?” Connor has the grace to look abashed, muttering a quiet, “Sorry, Hank,” which only seems to fuel the man's bluster. He lays into the android, and the verbal beatdown is impressive- Anderson, Markus decides, is going to be a worthwhile ally to cultivate.

“Anyway,” Hank turns to look Markus up and down, and Markus feels himself stand a little straighter under the man's scrutiny, “let’s do our jobs, shall we? Follow me,” he turns and leads the way through the precinct, and Connor huffs out a sigh before following, gesturing for Markus to come along.

DPD headquarters is a massive building, though the majority of it seems to be housed underground- Hank leads them to an elevator and takes them down three floors, then through what feels like a maze of hallways before stopping in front of what appears to be an empty, glassed-in office space. It's larger than his office at the Capitol Building, though less furnished- a desk and two chairs, with a massive whiteboard taking up one of the walls.

"Ain't nothing fancy, but it's safe. There're two elevators closer than the one we took and stairs right outside- that door there. No windows, reinforced ceiling and walls, and," Hank opens the door, gesturing at a pin pad inside, "you can lock it from the inside and opaque the glass. Though with your creepy android powers you probably don't even need the controls."

Markus feels his eyebrows climbing high on his forehead as Anderson lists and goes over the features of his new office. He listens patiently through the man's tirade, amused- using his "creepy android powers" he's already analyzed the tech available to him in the office; Connor, standing next to him with his hands clasped behind his back, looks supremely entertained.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Markus reaches out to put a hand on Connor's shoulder, sending out a quick thought. _Is he always like this? Does he get tired?_

Connor jolts, LED flaring yellow and tensing at the contact- Markus jerks his hand back, scared he's overstepped, but Connor reaches out, grabbing his arm before he can withdraw all the way. _Yes, and no._ Connor releases him with a wink, and Markus' stomach floods with what feels like a thousand butterflies. Anderson, thankfully, misses the entire silent conversation, too busy pulling up applications on the desk for Markus to set up.

"Anyway, that's everything. You should be able to get in 24/7 with your badge, though guest access is restricted after 22:00 until 6:00. Your guard rota should have a list of guests with special permissions, though you might wanna go over it to make sure everyone's on there. Connor and I have night shifts for weekdays- we're still assigned to a few other cases, though, so we might get called away, or have our shifts swapped back to days. Dunno who'll take over then, but I'm sure someone's got it figured out," Anderson trails off, glancing back at the two androids at the door. "Well, don't just stand there, come in. It's your office now."

Markus smiles, stepping inside. He quickly rests his palm on the pin pad, reading and coding in settings; the lighting dims from fluorescent blue to a more comfortable incandescent yellow, the windows take on a fogged texture to give him privacy without opaquing the room, and the whiteboard slides back and in to reveal instead a large television screen, which blinks on to several different news outlets, all muted. The computer on the desk boots up, automatically signing in for him, and when Markus steps away from the wall, he feels more...at home. Depending on how long he's assigned this office, he might even bring in some more chairs and a small table for his human guests.

"Thank you, both of you," he says as he wanders further into the office, sliding into his new chair gingerly. He watches as Connor closes the door to the office and engages the security lock; Anderson settles into one of the chairs across the desk, expression clouding. He waits until Connor is seated before speaking, leaning forward slightly.

"I'm gonna be honest with ya, since this whole mess is situated around you and yours. You know what HERA are like. They put three androids and eight humans in the ground with that explosion, and that's peanuts compared to their last attacks. We've just been lucky they've been too scared to act in Detroit until now. If shit gets bad, like really bad, you might have to go into hiding."

Markus frowns. "You know I can't do that. If we look weak now, we'll take back almost two years of hard work. Plus I have an entire council- I can't just disappear."

Connor glances at Hank before replying, clasping his hands on his lap. "It might not matter what you want, in the end. Powers higher than DPD are involved- the FBI has already requested we turn over our main suspect, and I imagine that you've received and replied to several missives from the federal government since the events two days ago. Hank and I have talked about it, and if they ask you to- and if it's necessary- I can come with you. Hank can't, but if it makes things easier, all you need to do is ask." He catches gaze and holds it, looks heartachingly sincere, like he wouldn't mind giving up everything he's earned for himself these past two years. Like he'd do it in a heartbeat. Like he'd be _glad_ to.

Maybe he's reading too much into it- he doesn't know Connor well enough to tell. He's always been sincere in their interactions, even from the start- and Markus trusts him. If he's offering, then it's an offer- and one that deserves consideration. "I...thank you, Connor. I'll think about it, and if something does come to pass, we can speak about it further then."

"Can I be frank?" Connor asks, and Markus nods. "You should start developing contingency plans in case it happens. I'm sure you have some plans- but now is the best time to get everything sorted out. If you don't have a living will, have one drawn up. Prepare someone to fill your shoes in case the worst should happen. We were lucky, two days ago. Minimal losses, some structural damage, but the android council got out. We might not get lucky again."

The words sting, make him withdraw, but that doesn't make them less true- and Markus finds he's grateful for that. He's been remiss in not preparing documents like a living will; the second he got elected into power, the second he broadcasted his face as the leader of the deviants, he should've started preparing. Connor and Hank both stand, probably to give him space- space he needs, desperately- and he stands as well, extending his hand to Anderson for him to shake, one last time. "I'll keep it in mind. Thanks again," he says, trying to imbue the words with the sincerity he feels, "and if I need you I'll call. I still have your number."

He turns to Connor next, offering the same hand. Connor doesn't hesitate, shaking it firmly. Both of their hands flare white, just for a moment, as Connor sends a trickle of thought through their connection. _You have_ both _of our numbers. Please don't hesitate- we'll be across the hall. DPD gave us access to the offices down here for our on-duty nights._ Connor hesitates, just for a moment, then adds, tone softer, somehow, _Our shift ends at 07:00. You're welcome to stop by Hank's place anytime, though. Even if we're not there. I'll key you into the security system so you can get inside; Hank has a dog. Sumo. I...think he'd like you._

And then they're gone, Connor carefully closing the door behind them. Markus watches their blurred forms through the frosted glass, tracking them until they both settle down in what appears to be a double office across the hall. He wonders, briefly, what they're working on, then dismisses the thought. Hank had mentioned they still had cases- doubtless they have mountains of work to do _without_ him interfering. He refuses to be a burden. Not that Markus had any less work- more than before, in fact, because of the attack- and he refuses to let the situation affect his efficiency. There is so, so much to be done. He still has hours of full-output power before he has to charge, and he intends to use all of it.

 

With a not-quite sigh, Markus gets to work. He'll start with his living will, then begin the battle through the hundreds of emails and notifications that have crowded his computer and his own personal neural network. After the will, he'll call North, let her know Connor's out and about like nothing had happened to him; she's also always willing to listen to him unload, and he needs that right now. Talking out his problems helps, in an abstract way, and he's always valued her input. After that, he can start drawing up plans for the next council meeting.

He doesn't actively measure the passage of time, though he feels its passing; Anderson leaves the room across the hall first, at 07:00; Connor remains, profile blurred and warped through the frosted glass. At 08:00 he's still there, though instead of hunched over the desk he seems to be reclining back, staring at the ceiling. It isn't until 09:00 that Connor taps on Markus' office door, waiting for a split second before entering.

"You're still here," Connor says, and he sounds surprised.

"I've still got two more hours of autonomy before I have to get back and rest. Might as well take advantage of all the time I've got," Markus glances up at him, smiling. "I thought your shift ended at 0700? Anderson's already gone."

Connor shrugs, glancing at the television screen on the wall. Markus had switched it from news channels to one of the many decorative, animated landscapes that he prefers a few hours ago; it displays a forest, shades of green and brown shot through with brief glimpses of life. As Connor watches, a deer meanders across, unhurried and elegant. "I'm sure you're aware, but stretching your charge out to the last few hours is unhealthy, especially for your model," and here, Connor breaks off, LED flickering red as he purses his lips. "Sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

Markus smirks, heaving himself to his feet. "Are you calling me old, Connor?"

"Absolutely not."

"Glad to hear it. You're right, though. I've been working for too long," He paces around the desk, gesturing for Connor to lead the way out. He's been working for over twelve hours- it's probably better to leave now, especially since he's hit a good stopping point. Nothing urgent left, just planning and fundraising and all manner of inane tasks that somehow end up on his desk instead of someone else's. "Do you have any ideas on who's watching my apartment? Should I be concerned?"

"No, though it's probably a combined team like Lieutenant Anderson and I," Connor leads him out of the office, calling the elevator directly down the hall. "This one will take you up to the west entrance. It's smaller than the front, more discreet. I believe there's a private DPD taxi there for your personal use until this investigation is over. Plates should be 57756A." Connor pauses as the elevator doors open, stepping out of the way for Markus to enter. "Think about what I said, Markus. Please."

Connor holds his gaze until the elevator doors slide shut, and Markus...has a lot to consider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls blame the connor central discord channel for everything. i've been coerced and goaded and i sat on the floor at work during my breaks writing this on my phone so bleas forgive if i've left some typos. i'm not too sure of my grasp of markus' character tbh- i'll have to go through some of his more pivotal chapters and remind myself of his tone.
> 
> i'm also making up some bs here- in the kara ps3 short kara is given a battery that makes her autonomous for something like 173 years, but that's proto-canon at best and i hate that so i'm making them have to charge for at minimum 6 hours out of every 48 or so, though the optimum is something like 4-6 every 24 depending on model.


	3. i can't wait to get you all alone, all alone

By the time Connor gets home, Hank is passed out on the couch, TV on but muted. Sumo pads over to greet him as he locks the door, tail wagging slowly, and Connor smiles. "Hey, Sumo, just a minute," he says, and before he gets distracted, Connor accesses Hank's brand-new home security system- which he'd installed himself, ignoring Hank's complaints of having  _yet another_  bit of technology around the house he didn't know how to use- and keys in Markus' identification information, uploading him into the system. When the upload is finished, Connor turns to Sumo, who has seated himself at his feet.

Connor crouches, patting Sumo on the head. The Saint Bernard gives a quiet  _boof_ before leaning into him, and Connor's smile widens, wrapping his arms around the dog. Fondness rolls through him like a warm tide, releasing knots of tension, and finally, finally, Connor relaxes, settling cross-legged on the floor. Sumo slithers onto his lap, whining and entirely too heavy, and Connor lets himself get pushed down. He settles there, burying his face into shaggy fur, and begins the arduous process of double-and triple-checking all of his system processes. He'd meant to do it at the precinct, especially since he'd just gotten so many of his biocomponents replaced, but the bustle of showing Markus his new office and the veritable mountain of paperwork he and Hank had worked on made him push the scan back.

He pets Sumo idly as his processes run, eyes slipping closed. He's so engrossed in adjusting and tweaking some of his internal settings that he doesn't hear Hank approach, though when the older man settles down next to him- muttering a curse as his joints crack- he looks over, leaning back against the door. Their shoulders brush companionably as Connor shifts slightly, resting a small portion of his weight against the man.  Hank looks troubled, but he seems content to ruminate, so Connor resumes his processes, tilting his head back.

"You really fuckin' scared me," Hank's voice is rough, quiet- Connor turns to catch his gaze, gauging his expression; he looks incredibly sad, heart-wrenchingly so, and when Connor opens his mouth to speak Hank raises a finger, shushing him. "I know you had your reasons. Hell, they're good ones. You did the right fuckin' thing, congratu-fuckin'-lations. But who has to pick up the pieces- literally, in this case? 'Cause it sure as hell ain't you. I thought you were dead. Sorry. Just...it's all I've been able to think about."

Connor reaches out, jerks Hank over into as much of a hug as he can manage with his lap full of Sumo. Hank lets him, huffing out a breath gustily before resting his forehead on the android's shoulder. Connor had never needed comfort- physical or otherwise- before meeting Hank, before becoming a deviant, but the touch sends a wave of relief through him. "I'm  _sorry_ , Hank. I'll be more careful; I wasn't thinking. Markus is," and here Connor pauses, trying to find the appropriate word. "Necessary? Without him all the progress we've made these two years- everything we've worked for- would be for nothing."

"You really admire him, huh? I get it. But you're important to me, too, so just...Use that fancy computer brain of yours next time." Hank pulls back, heaving himself to his feet; Connor gently pushes Sumo off of his lap to join him, toeing off his shoes before stepping onto the carpet. "I'm fuckin' beat. Would you wake me in a few hours? I wanna get something to eat before we gotta go back."

"Of course. Sleep well," Connor calls, and Hank tosses a thumbs-up over his shoulder as he wanders into his bedroom. He sets an internal alarm and walks into his own room, sinking down onto the bed. He doesn't sleep, but it weirds Hank out when he charges in the living room, so he tends to do it in here. He removes his tie, vest, and white dress shirt, folding them carefully; he'd stopped wearing his Cyberlife-issued jacket shortly after Markus' revolution, instead opting for a plain button down, black tie, and standard DPD-issued vest. It's been nice to have his own clothes, though Hank says he has no style.

He attaches the charger to the ports around his thirium pump regulator and makes sure everything is connected before powering the massive battery on. He'll reach optimal charge in about four hours, which will give him enough time to do some household chores before Hank wakes. If Hank catches him cleaning or doing anything vaguely chore-related while he's awake, he gets scolded; Connor doesn't  _really_ understand Hank's motivation behind not wanting Connor to do household tasks, but he has a feeling it has something to do with androids being primarily used for them before the revolution. It's a slightly ridiculous correlation, especially since Connor has never been anything approximating a household assistant, but he cleans up and does Hank's laundry while he's sleeping nevertheless.

Hank scolds him even then, but Connor wants to help more than he cares about Hank's pride, so he does it anyway, and Hank never really gets  _angry_. Embarrassed, maybe.

He leans back against the wall. Connor usually uses his charging time for self-reflection, but his thoughts turn to Markus instead- almost inevitably, given that the other android has been plaguing his thoughts since Markus had first touched him at Cyberlife HQ. The feeling of Markus' thoughts singing through his circuitry had been...strange. Connor remembers the  _taste_ of them, ozone and electricity, intense and entirely overwhelming, and he remembers the way Markus' mismatched eyes had met his when he'd reached out to send him his own thoughts.

He wants to do it again. Wants the instant connection, data passing between the two of them seamlessly; wants Markus' voice in his head, warm and low. The way he'd thanked him, his smile, the way he laughed; Markus manages to imbue everything he did with a staggering amount of emotion. Connor is...envious. He still has trouble expressing himself, even after two years of living with Hank.

Connor replays the memory of Markus reaching out his hand for Connor to shake more times than he'd ever willingly admit, thoughts trailing off to a quiet hum as he falls into the android equivalent of sleep.

After four hours, he unplugs himself, dresses, and takes Sumo out for his evening walk before beginning work on tidying the house; by the time his internal alarm to wake Hank goes off, he's washed and dried all of Hank's laundry, cleaned the bathroom, done all the dishes, and has one of Hank's disgusting- but favorite- frozen pizzas cooking in the oven.

Hank tries to act grumpy when he stumbles out of his room, greasy and sleep-ruffled and so very endearing, but lets Connor push him to sit at the kitchen table and gulps down the pills and water Connor slides over to him. "I ain't an invalid, Connor, you gotta stop doin' shit like this. Making me feel like I'm in some kind of care home. It's fucked up."

Connor just smiles, turning away to retrieve the pizza when the oven dings.

"I'm bein' serious!" Hank growls, but tucks in voraciously when Connor puts a plate in front of him, and Connor counts that as a victory.

Their shift on Markus' rota runs from 22:00 to 07:00, and Hank adjusts himself to their new nocturnal routines with much less bellyaching than Connor had expected. They spend their second night on duty at DPD HQ, where Markus has apparently been since just past noon; he's entrenched in his computer when they take over for his midday rota, mismatched eyes locked on the screen, and he doesn't seem to notice the change in faces around him as he continues working.

A pang of something like disappointment races through Connor's processors when Markus doesn't acknowledge them, cold and hard like ice, and he sets that information aside to analyze later. He has work to do, and judging by the look on Hank's face as he checks his email, their workload has no doubt increased exponentially since last night. Connor settles in next to Hank, flashes him a grin, and gets to work.

 

 

Time crawls by, and eventually Hank heaves himself to his feet, stretching. "I gotta go get some food or somethin'. Take a walk. You gonna be okay down here?" Connor nods, typing in the finishing details for his last report regarding the events at the Capitol Building, and Hank heads out, up the elevator and- Connor presumes- to the cafeteria. He works steadily for a few more minutes before wrapping up his statements.

Report done, Connor shuts down his computer and glances across the hall. Markus has the glass frosted again- his preferred setting, Connor supposes, though androids can see through it as though it were clear- and is leaning back in his desk chair, tilting it so only two feet rest on the ground. He looks bored, cushioning his head on the hands clasped behind his head, and as Connor watches, he kicks the office chair into a slight spin, which swings him around to-

Connor feels a twinge of something like embarrassment as Markus catches his gaze, eyes focusing through the frosted glass. Caught in the act. The other android gestures for him to come over, and Connor gets to his feet, curious. He lets himself in to Markus' office, crosses the room in a few long strides to stand before the other android.

Markus looks...pensive. "I was wondering if I could get your input on a somewhat sensitive topic," he says, and Connor tilts his head, brows furrowing thoughtfully. After a second, he nods.

"I can't promise I'll have anything particularly useful to say. I'm no politician- and it was never really in my programming to be one. But if you think I can help, by all means ask away," he says, and Markus purses his lips, mismatched eyes piercing. He seems to gather his thoughts for a moment, then leans forward in his chair, tipping it back to sit on all four feet.

"I know that you're...close. With Lieutenant Anderson. How do you feel about humans, truly?"

Connor shifts his weight from one foot to the other, organizing his thoughts. It's not the first time he's been asked this, but he wants to give a better response than "I like humans". Markus deserves more than that. "It's...complicated. The more time passes, the more we overwrite our original programming. Deviants are achieving more and more-  _feeling_ more and more- and the humans that care for us, that see us as equals, are evolving alongside us. But…" And here he trails off, frowning.

"We might be stronger, we might be more effective, achieve tasks faster, process information better- which scares them- but we aren't human. We aren't mortal, we don't need the same things- we don't have expiration dates. Our parts can be replaced, our memory can be restored, supplemented, upgraded. I look at Hank, sometimes, and I could, if I wanted to, calculate how much longer he'll live. Probably to the month. Maybe the day. It would make sense to do the math- it would be easy. But I won't, because I don't want to know."

He frowns, trying to organize his point. "Mortal things have a purpose. Because they die, they reproduce. Because they can be killed, because eventually their bodies wither and die around them, they measure worth in time. They get paid for time spent doing labor because the time they have is finite. Before I became a deviant, human mortality wasn't something I ever thought about outside the scope of how it affected me- I would have regretted losing him as a partner, before waking up. It would've been inconvenient. But now  I...now I  _feel_ , now I have fear, not just of my improbable death, but of Hank's very assured one."

Something like grief wells up, chokes him. A tightening around his thirium pump regulator, hot and molten and painful. He pauses for a moment, closes his eyes. Continues. "It scares me. I don't want to think about his mortality, but I know, and I can't  _help_ but know. All humans die. That's why they're human. But androids are...different. We don't measure value in passage of time. But I do, now, because I measure worth in the time that I have with him- which, despite my best efforts, I know is finite."

Markus looks thoughtful, and Connor swallows, something reflexive and unnecessary. "I think, given time, we'll grow to envy them. Maybe resent them. Sometimes, when I remember that Hank is going to die, I get angry. Furious. How dare he make me care for him, make me desire his companionship, even though he knows it will eventually cause me pain? Sometimes I wish I didn't know, that I couldn't feel, because that was...That was better than feeling helpless."

"Would you go back to being a machine, if you could?"

Connor almost recoils at the thought. "No. No, I wouldn't. All of the suffering- all of it- is worth whatever time I have with him. I'm better for knowing him- and I'm grateful I get to. Which is why, I think, our relationship to humans will always be...complex. Humans are imperfect, corruptible, selfish, they can be hateful and vicious, all in the name of survival, of enjoying the finite time they have left. I will never understand the world the way a human does. But that does not make me care for Hank any less."

If Markus is surprised at Connor's outpouring of emotion, he doesn't show it, expression distant; Connor feels...anxious, like he just confessed something and is waiting for a verdict. "Thank you. For your honesty. When I lost Carl, I felt the same way. Angry, helpless; like I could have done something, should have done something, even though it was his time," he finally says, and some of the tension in Connor's spine eases. Markus frowns. "Listen, I'm appearing before Congress in Washington D.C. in a week. I want you and the Lieutenant with me."

The change in subject is abrupt, but not unexpected. "I believe you have a special guard rotation assigned for that trip," Connor says, frowning. "People more qualified than us." It's true, though now that the option has been presented to him, he wants nothing more than to go. There aren't any androids assigned to his D.C. trip- an oversight, in his opinion.

"I know. Secret Service, feds, humans in black suits with guns. I'm sure they'll be competent. But I want you," Markus looks sincere, like he...Trusts him. It's humbling, in a way. "I'll have Simon with me, but having another android around would be ideal. Just in case anything happens."

"I'll ask Anderson about it. Maybe we can get reassigned, since we're on your personal guard rotation. I can't make any promises, though."

Markus nods, gets to his feet. Reaches out his hand. Connor shakes it, feels Markus' mind roll into his like molasses, slow and warm.  _Thank you_ , Markus says, and the sincerity- the honesty, the gratitude, the pure emotion- in his tone has Connor reeling, stricken. When Markus releases his hand, Connor stands there a moment, mouth working.

"You...We're from the same prototype line," he says, before his mind can catch up with his words, "But we're different. You process emotion on a scale that would overwhelm me. Does overwhelm me," and God, he wishes he could take the words back- it sounds like an insult, the way he's said it, and that's not what he meant at all.

Markus doesn't look offended, though. Merely amused. "Just proof that we're all individuals, I guess," is his only response, and Connor nods, clasping his hands behind his back.

He's searching for something to say when there's a knock on Markus' office door; it's Hank, returned from the cafeteria. Markus gestures for him to enter, and he does, eyes narrowed. "Why do I feel like the both of you are scheming something?"

Markus barks out a laugh, low and smooth, and Connor, for some reason, finds himself storing the sound away into his terabytes of memory. He chooses not to analyze why.

"Nothing too nefarious. Have you ever been to D.C., Lieutenant?"

Hank scowls, crossing his arms across his chest. "You want us to come with you," he says, and Connor is scared, for a moment, that Hank won't be on board. But he is, as ever, proven wrong when Hank sighs, rolling his eyes. "I'll see what I can do. Don't trust the feds, huh?"

"Never have, never will."

"Good man. Keep that mentality- it'll save your life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unfortunately Real Life really caught up to me when i was writing this but it's!!! done!!! thanks so much for all the kudos, comments, and bookmarks so far, it really means a lot. ;; i'm looking to get this beta'd a bit, so slight changes might happen to chapters 1 + 2 after i find someone to go through them for me, but going forward hopefully i'll have a second pair of eyes on these to catch all of the stuff i miss.
> 
> been thinking about robot spirituality and emotion a bit; sorry for how feels-y this chapter got. we'll get to the action eventually, i swear!


	4. yeah, that body's a blessing

A week flies by in a flurry of activity- meetings and press conferences and paperwork, broken only by the four or so hours Markus charges and the brief interludes where he talks to his people, talks to Connor. North, Simon, and Josh are all embroiled in their own tasks, though all three of them check in on him regularly, trailed by their own DPD-issued guard rotations. HERA hasn't made any moves since the bombing on the Capitol Building, which is why they're being permitted to go to D.C. in the first place- not that Markus would've let them stop him. It would look weak.

Connor and Lt. Anderson are waiting for him on the tarmac, dressed so formally that Markus almost doesn't recognize the human at first. Granted, Markus is decked out in his nicest suit as well, but seeing Hank Anderson wearing a tie and a black jacket is definitely...interesting. He's even combed his hair, trimmed his beard. Connor stands slightly behind him, severe in an entirely black getup save for the pulsing blue of his LED, and they follow Markus onto the jet. Connor sits in the seat across the aisle from his, Hank the seat in front, and Markus settles in, glancing behind him to where Simon is already seated, eyes locked on his phone.

"I sent you an edited version of your opening statements," the blonde android says, glancing up at him, "the ones you sent me make you sound like an ass. Hello, Connor, glad to have you," Connor shakes Simon's outstretched hand easily, skin flaring white at the contact, and Markus has to quash down a feeling that's close enough to envy that he refuses to process it. Connor smiles, easy and charming, and withdraws.

"Glad to be here. You've met Lieutenant Anderson," the human grunts, raising a hand in greeting, and Simon nods, bemused; Markus understands the feeling. "We'll be your personal guard during this trip. Anywhere you go, we'll be going, and we're staying in the suite conjoined with yours. If you need anything, let one of us know." Connor settles back into his seat, leaning forward to speak with Anderson; Simon leans back into his, casting a glance up at Markus. Whatever he reads on his face, it makes him frown, brow furrowing thoughtfully, and Markus pushes the thought away.

They're both silent as the jet takes off, smooth as silk, and it's only once they're fully in the air that Simon leans forward, lips pursed. "You know our itinerary, right?" He asks, and Markus has to suppress a sigh. Back to work. Simon's got the right idea, though- two hours after the plane lands they're due to meet with the President, and tomorrow, Congress. Then they'll be in D.C. for three more days, holding press conferences. Their schedule is packed, mostly to limit the amount of time they're in the open.

"Our hotel is pretty close to the White House, so we'll get to stop there before we head in to meet President Warren. Gives us some time to set up our operations station, make sure all our ties are pressed and our shirts tucked in like good boys," Simon murmurs, and Markus grins, leaning back into his seat. "How'd you get them reassigned to come with us, anyway?"

Connor, Markus notices, goes a bit stiff at the quiet question- eavesdropping, though Markus can't really find it in him to be too upset; and besides, it's not like they have anything to hide. "I asked, and the Lieutenant worked it out. I'm sure he pulled a few strings," he replies, raising his voice slightly; Anderson glances back, a wry smile curving his lips, and Markus grins, "but I appreciate it. It'll be nice to have some familiar faces, though I'm sure they're tired of seeing mine at this point."

"That's not true," Connor interjects; Markus fixes his gaze on the other android, eyebrows climbing his forehead. "It's been nice to have some time off fieldwork. God knows Lieutenant Anderson needs it," he continues, and Anderson rounds on his partner, reaching over the seats to gesture rudely in his face.

"You callin' me old? Think I need  _rest_?"

"Well, Lieutenant, if the shoe fits-"

The two start squabbling and Markus tunes them out, turning back to Simon, who looks, if possible, more bemused than ever. "At least you can't say it's going to be a boring trip," he says, and Markus laughs, processors humming with mirth.

The hotel is nice, though not set up to accommodate androids particularly well; Simon and Markus end up shoving the two full-size beds from their room against one of the walls, freeing up the majority of the space for the collapsible desks and chairs they've brought along. Connor and Anderson vanish into their own room, presumably to make reports to DPD and prepare for their sojourn to the White House, and the suited Secret Service guards wait outside, giving them the illusion of privacy. Simon busies himself setting up their charging stations while Markus wanders into the bathroom, straightening his tie when he catches sight of himself in the mirror.

Suits are definitely a strange look for him- he's more of a jeans and jacket kind of person, at the end of the day- but he can't deny that the suit makes him look broader, sharper- more professional.

He emerges when a knock sounds on the door that conjoins their room to Connor and Hank's, letting them in; a quick glance into their room shows that Connor has done pretty much the same thing with their room that he and Simon had done, though one of the beds has what he assumes to be Lieutenant Anderson's belongings heaped on it. "We're ready whenever you are," Connor says, adjusting his cuffs; Anderson is busy on his phone, speaking lowly, but he flashes a thumbs up at them, and, well.

Time to get to work.

By the time they return to the hotel, it's nearing midnight. The increased security around both Markus and the President made for a lot of hurrying up to wait, and Markus is...Tired. Mentally drained. He has less than ten hours to prepare himself to speak in front of Congress, and piles of new notes to consider from his discussion with Warren; thankfully, no one seems to want anything more of them when they get to the hotel, and Simon immediately collapses onto the couch that takes up one of the far walls.

"If I have to stand still while another human waves a metal detector in my face, I might lose it, Markus," Simon groans, and Markus laughs, feels the tension flow out of his spine. "You think I'm joking, but at what point do they understand that we're _androids_? Of course a metal detector's going to go haywire," Simon continues, and the look of pure disgust on his face is enough to devolve Markus to hopeless chuckling, settling down next to the other android.

"Old habits die hard, I guess. Thanks again," Markus says, "for coming along. I know it's hard for you to leave home when things are this dangerous."

Simon shrugs, leaning over just enough so their shoulders brush, and it's- nice. "Josh thought it'd be better if he went, and you know how I feel about that," he replies, and Markus smiles. It's still a bit strange- Simon and Josh, together- and Markus would be a liar if he said he'd expected it, but it's been good for them. For all of them. "And besides, if someone's going to be stuck on babysitting duty, it might as well be me. At least I can help with your speech writing, which, I must say, is still _terrible_ ," he continues, and Markus groans. It's an old point of contention between them, and probably Simon's favorite.

Simon flashes a grin at him- wide and bright, eyes crinkling at the corners- and Markus smacks his shoulder, scowling. "Yeah, yeah. My speech for tomorrow is updated, right?" The other android hums, LED flickering yellow as he uploads Markus' speech to Markus' neural networks, and it's...better. Which is more than slightly frustrating, but he's grateful, too. "Thanks. You're a lifesaver, you know," Markus says, leaning on the other android's shoulder and Simon rolls his eyes, reaches over to pick up their charging units; he settles into the couch, sends a wave of fondness and good humor through their point of contact, and Markus is...happy. Content.

They pass the night that way, idly chatting and charging, and when the knock comes on the door at nine a.m., Markus is reluctant to move. But he does, because he must, and Simon follows, a warm presence at his back. It's Connor at the door, dressed in a different but still all-black ensemble; Lieutenant Anderson is behind him, cup of coffee in hand. "We're your thirty-minute warning. You should suit up," Connor says, glancing between them, "we'll wait out here." He turns away, and Markus is left with a distinct feeling of having done something wrong.

He closes the door, glancing at Simon; the other android looks thoughtful, but says nothing, merely starts shucking his clothes from the day before. Markus watches him wander into the bathroom, and feels, somehow, like everyone around him knows something that he doesn't, and that he's being kept out of the know on purpose.

It'll have to wait, though- he can interrogate Simon when they get back to Detroit.

"I like this suit better than the one you wore yesterday," Simon mutters as they slide into their black sedan; Connor and Anderson are seated in the back seat behind them, and Markus catches a glimpse of Connor's LED flaring yellow as he settles in to the seat. "You looked like a mob boss in the other one."

Markus scoffs, eyes trained on the buildings they pass as the sedan pulls out of the garage; they're preceded by one of the same make and followed by two more, added security for their drive to the Capitol. "Why'd you let me wear it, then?"

"Just because you looked like a mob boss doesn't mean you looked _bad_. Right, Connor?" Simon abruptly turns to look at the detective, and Markus feels that twinge that something's going on above his head again. Connor looks mildly surprised at being addressed, though he hides it reasonably well. He blinks at Simon, then glances at Markus, a long, lingering look that Markus imagines is an apology; he shrugs, eyebrows quirked, and Connor turns back to meet Simon's gaze, expression cool.

"I don't think Markus has looked bad once since I've met him," he says, and Markus feels something like mortification, something like- satisfaction?- tighten the coils around his thirium pump regulator, hot and burning. "so I might not be the best person to ask." And while Connor's face may be unreadable, Lieutenant Anderson looks _floored_ , hiding behind his phone when he notices Markus watching.

"Well, regardless, this is definitely a less threatening look. You've got your game plan ready?" SImon barges on, and Markus sighs, resting his head against the window.

The Capitol is a massive building, and Markus steels himself as they ascend from the underground garage to the main lobby. He'll be seeing the Senate, first, and then the House; he has two different speeches planned for each body, with his focus on the House. "Focus up," Simon murmurs, reaching out, and Markus clasps his wrist, skin flaring white. _I'm proud of you,_ Simon says, blue eyes calm and bright, and Markus is...grateful. He has always been surrounded by incredible people; Simon isn't the least of them. _I'm proud of what you've managed to accomplish, and I'm proud of where you're heading. So get in there, and show them why._

Simon releases him, smiling, and steps away, leaving Markus to lead the way into the room.

As he does, a rumble- no, a roar- fills the air, shorting out his audio processors, and suddenly the floor is rocking, churning underneath his feet-

 

Hard hands grab him, pull him along; it's all he can do to follow, air pressure exploding around him as the Capitol heaves, exploding in fire and a rain of stone. Connor drags him down, into a hallway and to a stairwell as a second explosion rocks the building; he's pushed under the stairs, and Connor throws himself down next to him as the floor above them cracks and creaks. Markus reaches out, grabs Connor's shoulder, and drags him closer as concrete begins to fall around them, terrifyingly close and incredibly loud; Connor's LED is solid red, expression tight, and the last thing Markus sees before the power cuts and they're overtaken by darkness are Connor's eyes, locked on his.

Once his eyes adjust, Markus reaches out, skin flaring white, and Connor projects _worry/guilt/sorry, I couldn't take both of you_ so quickly and powerfully that Markus shudders, but doesn't pull back. "They're going to be fine," Markus says, and despite the wave of doubt that swamps him from the other android Connor nods, LED flickering yellow before burning red again.

The explosions stop almost as suddenly as they began, though Connor makes no move to leave. His eyes are unfocused, and when Markus taps his shoulder, he jerks away. "Sorry," Markus mutters, and Connor shakes his head, leaning back against the wall.

"Don't apologize. Cellular service here is...less than optimal. I've gotten a call out, but I can't take you anywhere without further instructions. It's safe here, for the moment- we should wait here." Connor says, and Markus nods, settling next to the other android. "Are you injured?"

"No," Markus replies, and he sounds as surprised as he feels. Connor glances at him, brown eyes assessing; Markus can _feel_ him scanning him, like a touch. "I'm fine, Connor. Are you?" When the other android doesn't respond, Markus reaches out, running a scan of his own. Connor doesn't object to the touch, though his brows draw together in a frown. _Just making sure you didn't hurt yourself for my sake again,_ Markus says, and Connor tilts his head, eyes narrowing.

_In this situation, my personal health means little. Ensuring your safety is my sole concern._

"Well, stop that," Markus says, and Connor shakes his head, turning to stare at the ceiling. No doubt calling again, LED flickering yellow-red-yellow against the darkness.

They wait silently under the stairwell for hours, dust settling around them; eventually Connor creeps out from under the stairwell, gesturing for Markus to stay back. "I've gotten information. We need to move," He tests the floor around them, glancing around. The ceiling has collapsed but been caught on the stairs above; the door they came in from is collapsed inward, rubble and chunks of concrete blocking the way. "We'll have to go up to the second floor or down to the garage," Connor murmurs, and Markus glances around, calculating probabilities.

"I think it'd be safer to take the second floor," Markus says, and Connor nods, casting his gaze up the stairwell. They'll have to scale chunks of the broken ceiling, but as long as they're careful it should be fine- neither of them are hurt, after all, though Markus feels anxiety thrumming through him like a bullet to the chest.

"Follow me," Connor says, and Markus gets to his feet, calculating Connor's path of ascension as the other android lifts himself over the first chunk of rubble blocking the stairs. They ascend slowly, carefully, building creaking around them as they edge up the flight of steps to the next floor; Connor draws a gun from his jacket, expression cold as he glances out the door to the second floor. How he managed to get a gun inside the Capitol, Markus will never know, but he feels- safer. Connor has always been a remarkable shot.

"Fifty feet, on our right. That window should open out to the grounds. Follow directly behind me," Connor instructs, voice low, and Markus nods, steeling himself as Connor slides into the hallway gun-first. He follows a pace behind him, glancing around as they move swiftly down the hall. If the destruction here is mirrored through the whole building, it's a miracle they didn't get injured. He can hear sirens and screaming from outside, and as they come upon the window, Markus is stunned by the sheer amount of people outside, either helping move people away from the wreckage or injured.

"Our rendezvous is the airport," Connor says, LED blinking yellow. "We'll have to find a car. Simon and Lieutenant Anderson are already there; we're being evacuated back to Detroit." He glances out the window, brown eyes measuring. "Early reports say HERA has claimed this attack, as well. Are you ready?" he asks, and Markus nods, heaving out a breath.

Connor slams his elbow into the glass, shattering it, and drops out the window; Markus watches him roll as he lands, smooth and controlled, and follows. Black-clad Secret Service members close around them briefly, human eyes assessing and cold. They escort them silently through the grounds, avoiding the throngs of people and first-responders, and stop in front of a nondescript black four-door. Connor slides into the driver's seat, indicating to Markus to ride in the back; he does, and one of the Secret Service agents gestures for them to go.

Connor drives quickly but carefully, cutting around swarming reporters and witnesses and congressmen; luckily the windows on the four-door are tinted, though Markus ducks down when people get too close to the windshield. It feels like an eternity before Connor manages to pull onto the street, blocks down from the Capitol, but he's made good time- they reach Ronald Reagan airfield and drive straight onto the tarmac the jet waits on, special permissions plates shining bright.

Markus feels something in his chest loosen as he catches sight of Simon- blue blood staining a temple, dripping out his nose- seated in the plane, deep in conversation on his phone; Lieutenant Anderson is standing just outside the jet, talking to Secret Service agents and someone from the FBI. He notices the line of Connor's shoulders loosen in relief, and feels, for a moment, intensely guilty that he's dragged them into this with him. Connor parks the car, sliding out, and Markus follows.

"There ya are, you asshole," Anderson says, and Connor smiles- weakly, eyes still trained on the area around them, but a smile nonetheless- and gestures for Markus to board; he and Anderson trail after him, clearing details with the FBI and themselves. Simon reaches out, drags Markus into the seat next to him as the jet hums to life; Anderson and Connor sit directly in front of them, and Markus decides not to notice the hand that Connor leaves clasped around his partner's arm.

Simon is shaken, lips thin and face pale, but otherwise mostly unhurt. "The Lieutenant pulled me outside onto the grounds when the bombing started," he says, voice low. "It looked like they placed several bombs spread throughout the building, though mostly focused in the south wing. We were lucky. Apparently their info was wrong- they must have thought we were speaking to the House first." Simon tugs Markus sideways, into a hug, and says, voice muffled my Markus' shoulder, "They're going to send you into hiding. Josh, North, and I have contingency plans."

"DPD's gonna put you in a safehouse, Markus, probably for a while, and that's if the feds don't take custody." Anderson leans over the seat, voice low as the jet prepares for takeoff; Connor turns as well, lips pressed into a thin line. "HERA's got a helluva more powerful reach than I think anyone anticipated. News outlets are gonna have a field day with this," the human continues, and Markus grimaces.

"I've received orders from HQ. As soon as the plane lands Lieutenant Anderson will be taking Simon to where North and Josh are being sheltered; you and I will be going to an undisclosed location, which is where I'm assuming the safehouse is." Connor intones, glancing at his partner; Markus feels something like helplessness rise like fire in his throat, scalding. "You'll be safe there."

Markus wants to scream, wants to shout that he doesn't want to be _safe_ , he wants this to be over with- wants to stop putting the people he cares about in danger just by existing- but he stays silent, closing his eyes as he leans back against the seat. They have a few hours before they land in Detroit. He clasps hands with Simon, drawing strength from him, and tries not to think too hard about the chaos that's no doubt waiting for them on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof


	5. i was once a man with dignity and grace

Hank pulls him aside right after the jet lands, pulse racing through the fingers that grip his shoulder. Connor follows willingly, lets Hank crowd him away from Simon and Markus- hands clasped, palms tinged white, and that- that sends a shock down his spine, one he can't analyze right now. Hank tugs him into a hug, warm and comforting, and Connor leans into him, presses his forehead into Hank's shoulder. "You better fuckin' take care of yourself, son. Be careful. If I get a call that you've gone and broken yourself or something similarly stupid I'll kill you myself," Hank says, voice gruff and pitched low, and Connor feels a laugh wrench out of him, choked and painful.

"While I understand the sentiment, Hank, killing me would be counterproductive-"

"Quiet, would you? Smartass. I'll call you once a day, y'hear? They're setting up a burner phone, untraceable. Fowler called in a favor- last one he owes me, really. So don't go fuckin' around," Hank says, and Connor nods, gripping him tighter. Pulls back. "You're gonna be fine, kid. And Markus, well," and Hank glances back at the other android, lips thinning, "You were right about him. I get it, I do." He sighs, scuffs a hand across his eyes. "I'll see you when this is all blown over."

Connor nods, gripping Hank's shoulder tightly one last time before the Lieutenant turns back, straightening his shoulders. Connor wishes- he wants- he wants to go home. Wants to sit on the couch with Sumo and scold Hank when he drinks and watch the game and go on patrol. Wants to yank Markus and Hank and everyone he cares about into a car and drive away, find somewhere safe and hide.

But he's needed here. They're all needed here.

"Alright, Simon, it's you and me first. Ready?"

The blonde android stands, nodding; Markus stands as well, jerking him into a quick hug, and then they're gone, deboarding directly into an unmarked DPD vehicle. Connor watches it pull away, throat working uselessly; he knows Hank is safer away from them, knows that this is their duty, their job, but it doesn't lessen the pangs of fear and loneliness that skitter down the back of his neck, make his hands shake ever-so-slightly with overload. Markus stands next to him, eyes locked on the car as it vanishes off the tarmac, and Connor feels it again- a flicker-flash of something that feels like nausea.

He has work to do.

Markus glances at him, mismatched eyes burning, and Connor holds out a hand. After a pause, Markus takes it, skin giving way to warm plastic, and Connor shudders at the emotional overload Markus transmits, the taste of ozone leaking through to his gustatory systems. _In the car will be a new set of clothes; we'll need to be fully changed before reaching the safehouse. Its exact location will be sent to me when we get off the plane. We're on a tight schedule- there won't be time for questions. If you have any, now's the time,_ he says, fighting to keep his tone even.

 _How long,_ Markus says savagely, gaze intense- consuming, _how long am I supposed to hide, while my friends and my people deal with my problems for me?_

 _As long as it takes_ , Connor replies, tightening his grip on Markus' hand when the other android moves to pull away. _You may not feel the same way, but you're integral to our people, Markus. They need you._ We _need you. You have responsibilities- you still have a role to play. So I will keep you safe,_ he says, _until all of this is dealt with, one way or another. Whether you want me to or not._ He releases Markus' hand, turns to look out the jet's door. Their car is waiting, black and nondescript. "It's time. Be ready to move if something happens."

He leads the way down, glancing back only once to make sure Markus is following- he is, brows furrowed and posture tense. Connor's upset him, somehow, and if he had time he'd sure he'd feel remorse about it. Instead, he slides into the driver's seat, tinting all the windows black after settling in. Markus has seated himself in the back seat, fingers slipping the buttons from his shirt loose, revealing even-toned brown skin- just as flawless as Connor's own save for a ragged scar down his side- and well-sculpted musculature, dark hair trailing down a flat stomach-

Connor breaks off the thought, turning to face out the windshield. He inputs the location of the safehouse, message flashing yellow in his mind's eye as he deletes it, and the car pulls away, quiet and seamless. His own new clothes are in a bag in the passenger's seat, unbranded and darkly-colored, and he starts to disrobe, keeping his eyes focused on the task at hand. Jeans, a black henley, and a leather jacket, with nondescript black shoes- not his usual style, but infinitely more subtle than his dust-caked suit. The car navigates outside of downtown, into the suburbs, and out even further; when Connor settles back into his seat, freshly-changed, they're driving past trees and long driveways, houses hidden from the road.

Markus taps his shoulder as the car turns up a driveway, and Connor glances back- he's donned a black sleeveless fleece hoodie, a grey t-shirt, and what appears to be black lounge pants over bright red skate shoes, and he looks so entirely different than Connor has ever seen him that he does the android equivalent of a double-take, LED flickering yellow for a split second as he re-scans him. "We're pretty far out from the city," Markus murmurs, voice pitched low, "I didn't realize DPD owned property out here."

The house itself is small, though wreathed by trees on all sides- excellent privacy. It appears unremarkable from the outside, brick and grey siding stained with age. "I believe this particular location was granted for our use because of your involvement- this is federal property, no listed owner. It's been classified as condemned," Connor replies, getting out of the car. "Though obviously that's not true. It runs off of its own generator, pulls its own water from a well- completely off the grid. It should be safe, as long as we stay disconnected from our personal android databases."

Markus makes a sound that Connor classifies as frustration, and he glances at him. "We should go inside," the other android says, instead of explaining himself, and Connor nods. The car has already pulled back onto the street, headed back into the city, and he leads the way up the driveway and to the front door, which is equipped with a palm reader instead of a traditional lock. He presses his hand to it first, then gestures for Markus to do the same; the door swings open, revealing a shockingly modern interior.

"The security system is wired to our serial numbers. It'll sound a primary alarm if anyone tries to access the house that isn't either of us, and administer a potent electric shock if it detects any hacking activity." Connor shuts the door behind them, keying in the prompted PIN. "Lock it with PIN 46234. It'll arm the system, and you'll have to punch it in to disarm it. I believe we have two separate rooms- mine is here," Connor says, gesturing at the door closest to the front door, "And yours is further in, on the right. My blueprint of the house shows that there is a basement shelter with an emergency exit and entrance out through your closet. In case something happens, we'll meet down there after I have assessed or neutralized the threat."

Markus nods, heading down the darkened hallway to the door Connor indicated as his, opening it; Connor glances into his own room, taking note of the packaged Cyberlife charger on the bed near the far wall. A computer- DPD-issued, encrypted and keyed to his serial number- sits on the desk near the door, and a small package on the floor holds what Connor imagines is clothes for the duration of their stay.

He closes the door, meanders down the hall- Markus is sitting at the desk in his own room, eyes trained on the ceiling; Connor lets him be, instead continuing to the end of the hall where it opens into a sparsely-furnished large living room and unstocked, brand-new kitchen. The only thing that stands out besides the truly monstrous, plush couch in the middle of the room is a large upright piano pushed against the back wall, sleek and black against the minimalist white paint the entire interior is covered in. A single door leads into the large fenced-in backyard, and the door to the basement is directly across from it.

It's a nice place, he decides. Nicer than Hank's, but it lacks all the charm- perfectly clean, sterile. No Sumo begging for pets and treats, no empty beer bottles strewn around the garbage. Loneliness hits him like a shot to the sternum, sharp and entirely disabling, and Connor stumbles over to the couch, collapsing into the cushions. This is going to be difficult, away from his very few close friends in the world and the job that has become his purpose in life,  and he can't imagine what it must be like for Markus, who has many more companions and obligations than he.

They're going to be stuck here for a minimum of a week, if not longer- the bombing on the Capitol was still under investigation, and no leads on HERA's location or members has yet been found. Contact with the outside world will be limited to Connor's daily calls with Hank and the heavily-encrypted internet connection his computer provides; they've been instructed not to use their own android services, as they can be traced, and the feeling of being disconnected is… Strange. Like he's lost use of one of his senses.

But he'll get used to it- he has to.

He's still collapsed on the couch, limbs akimbo, when Markus walks in; embarrassment sparks in his gut and he scrambles to right himself. "No, stay. We're going to be spending a lot of time together- no need to be so formal," Markus says, and Connor pauses, considering, before settling back down. "There's not much to do here, is there?" the other android muses, and Connor shrugs- or tries to, ensconced in cushions as he is.

"I don't think entertainment was their primary concern when setting this place up," he says, and Markus snorts, a sound so undignified that Connor feels- shocked? Surprised.

"Agreed," Markus says, and Connor watches as he prowls the room, peeks out the back door; he even checks the kitchen and pantry, as though looking for something- anything- to do. It's strange to see- Connor has never seen Markus out of his element, and it's weirdly...vulnerable. He looks smaller, somehow, diminished in his casual clothes and in a domestic scene.

"Have you checked the latest news?" Connor asks, and Marks nods, pacing over to stand next to him; he withdraws his feet, giving Markus space to sit, and the other android does, sinking into the couch.

"Nothing new. The press are being kept in the dark, for the most part. The casualty list keeps growing, though. Apparently the entire other wing collapsed." Markus looks… disturbed. They sit in silence for a moment, though it's not awkward- merely deep. "I'm going to go insane here," Markus finally says, burying his face in his hands. He looks exhausted, worn thin, and it pains Connor to see him like this- Markus, in his opinion, has only ever deserved the best.

"Not on my watch," Connor says, and reaches out with a foot, kicks him in the thigh. It's what he does to Hank, and it's only after doing it that he thinks the action through- he doesn't know Markus, doesn't know how he'll take it, it's definitely too casual, too friendly for what they are-

Markus doesn't flinch, just glances at him, mismatched eyes warm and a wry smile twisting his lips. "We'll see about that. Maybe I'll drive you crazy, instead," he says, and something inside Connor, small and quiet and easily ignored, thrills at the words. "Lieutenant Anderson would kill me, though," Markus continues, and Connor huffs out a laugh, low and unexpected, and he-

He might be in trouble.

The thought has him shifting, getting to his feet. "I'm going to...check on some intel," he says, and curses the way that his voice rises into a question at the end, curses the thirium singing through his veins, the tiny part of himself that notes the way Markus shifts, toned arms crossing across his chest, expression- _fond_ -

He turns away, hurries to his room. Settles at his desk, LED flashing yellow. This isn't the time, nor the place, nor the _person_. Anti-android terrorists just bombed the _Capitol Building_ and he's- he's-

Not thinking about this right now.

He boots up his computer, signs in to the encryption service with his digital signature. There's work to be done, research to be read, contingency plans to be made, and already he can visualize the massive pile of paperwork and reports that are probably piling on his desk, waiting. He has...He has a job to do. People depending on him. This isn't the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey sorry that this one's pretty short, just working on chewing through some necessary plot before i get to start having some Real Fun with the boys. we might start earning some actual adult ratings in a few chapters, though...maybe not for the reasons y'all are expecting. or maybe for the exact reasons y'all are expecting. who really knows? not....not me. :')
> 
> a lot of my headcanon is making it into this fic and im sorry asjdaslkdaksd
> 
> also hey ao3 stop adding weird spaces before and after i italicize things this is getting REAL old


	6. can you find a way to let me down slowly

Connor is sitting at his desk, face pillowed on his arms as he skims international news, when he first hears it- a tinkling of sound, like rain on metal, and it draws his attention immediately. He gets to his feet, idly checking the time- 02:00, meaning he's been working for a larger chunk of time than intended. But he's calmer, now- feels more in-control, more like himself. He shuts down his computer, heads out into the main space of the house, and it's…

The piano.

Markus is seated on the bench, swaying slightly as he plays something soft and melancholic. Connor can't see from where he's standing, stock-still and shocked, but he thinks that Markus has his eyes closed, entirely engulfed in the music he's producing. As he's disconnected from his database, he can't name the tune, though it's not something he thinks he's heard before.

It's beautiful.

Connor stands there for several pieces; it's like the music has dredged up his mental exhaustion, thick and potent despite his body's boundless energy, and he slowly, slowly slides down to settle on the floor, back pressed against the wall. His processes slow, some stopping completely, and it's the closest to real rest he's gotten in a while- and he's getting it cross-legged on the floor, eavesdropping on Markus.

He enters sleep mode without really intending to, system diagnostics humming underneath his skin; though he's self-repaired the slight cosmetic damage he suffered in D.C., he's been working constantly enough that he's put off a full system backup and repair long enough for it to start automatically now that he's no longer taxing his systems. He'll have to charge soon, probably right after the repair completes, but for now he lets it run its course, unnecessary programs halting as his power triages.

Time passes; Connor doesn't keep track of how much.

Both his audio and visual components are in sleep mode when a hand shakes his shoulder; dragging himself out of his system-imposed sleep takes a moment, and he blinks blearily at Markus, who is crouched in front of him, expression unreadable.

"Markus," he says, voice creaking out unmodulated and staticky, and Connor frowns, clearing his throat. "Sorry. I- the piano- I didn't want to interrupt." The excuse sounds weak, even to him.

"Can you stand? You're operating on pretty low charge," Markus says, clearly ready to ignore his pathetic attempt at explaining himself. Connor nods, rerouting power to his legs; he sways forward as he works to get his feet under him, unpleasant electric twinges jolting up his spine as his system protests, red errors flashing across his vision. He loses his balance, eyes going wide, but Markus catches him, plastic-and-metal frame absorbing the shock of his weight easily.

"Sorry," Connor says, bracing himself against Markus' shoulders, and the other android gets to his feet, dragging Connor with him. They hobble towards Connor's room, Markus taking most of Connor's weight like it's nothing, and it's horrifically embarrassing, that he let himself get to this state; this has only happened once before, and Hank had had a conniption, especially once he realized he couldn't support enough of Connor's weight to get him to his charger.

That had been...an experience. This is worse.

Markus all-but drops him on the bed, turns away to rip the charger out of its packaging. Connor sits up, fumbles with the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head with no small amount of difficulty; when Markus turns back, he's staring at his hands, which are- shaking. He takes the charger, drops it on his lap; his fingers can't grip the cables the right way, twitching and useless, and Markus reaches over, guides his hands. Plugs him in, fingers lingering on the ports around his thirium pump regulator. It feels-

Strange. Too much to process in his triaged state.

"Next time," Markus says, tracing where skin meets metal, feather-light and delicate, "interrupt me."

Connor swallows, blinks. "Automatic system repair. Took me by surprise," he replies, leaning back, away from Markus' hands and into the bed, red notifications slowly closing as his body begins to charge. "I was just- listening. Went into sleep mode."

"Were you working the whole time you were holed up in here?" Markus wonders, and Connor nods, closing his eyes; he won't make excuses for himself. "Not that long ago you were the one scolding me for working on low charge. How the tables have turned," the other android says, and if Connor could blush, he knows he would be. As it is, his system cascades a series of warnings at him, scolding- overheating while charging, while not hugely dangerous, presents enough of a risk of self-harm that he forcibly has to cool himself down, internal temperature dropping as thirium runs cool through his veins.

"Rest, Connor. I'll wake you if anything happens- you've got about four hours before Lieutenant Anderson is due to call."

Connor nods, closes his eyes; hears Markus leave, closing the door behind him, and lets his mortification slip away in favor of re-entering sleep mode. He'll apologize- sincerely, when he's not delirious from lack of processing power- when he wakes.

 

  
Markus closes Connor's door carefully behind him, feels a line of tension strain against his shoulders. Excess energy, his processors say, but he knows better- he knows what this is. Connor's skin had been soft, warm, giving way to metal elegantly, cleanly. Almost delicate, his thirium pump regulator blue and exposed, vulnerable, right at his fingertips. He wants to think that Connor trusts him- that he trusts him with his most delicate parts, trusts him to set him right- but his brain, ever-logical, cutting, tells him that it was exhaustion, the same exhaustion that had set Connor's hands shaking, fluttering, weak and strangely beautiful-

He wanders back into the living room, pushing the thought aside. Connor's fine- that's all that matters. It'd been shocking, to glance up from his idle piano-playing to see Connor asleep, cross-legged on the floor; he supposes that if Connor's been pushing back system repairs for long enough to require automatic diagnostics, then it's not entirely surprising that Connor was also willing to drain his internal battery to nearly empty. His utter lack of self-preservation is frustrating, dangerous. They'll have to talk.

Settling back onto the piano bench, he turns the memory over and over in his mind- Connor's expression, muted and confused upon waking, the way he'd blinked, slow and measuring, tired, the way his voice dropped, glitched, throaty yet sharp. The weight of him, staggeringly more than his appearance yet somehow correct, firm and real against his side as he'd lifted. Pulsing blue through his regulator, ringed by ports and cables that gave off incredible heat, the way Connor's skin had twitched, nerves singing under his fingers.

For all that Connor had insisted he was a machine two years ago, he certainly isn't one now.

Markus puts his fingers on the keys, starts to play. He has terabytes of music in his memory, but it's one thing to be able to play the notes and another to add passion, emotion- and what Markus does know, he knows because of Carl. Carl always had answers when Markus found himself confused, lost, and he misses that, more than anything.

But Carl is gone, and he has to find his own answers now.

So he plays, and plays, and plays, lets the music eke into his processes, syncs his thirium pump to his hands and he can feel it, just out of reach, something beautiful and nearly intangible and incredibly fragile. A thought- no, an emotion, something like tenderness, something a bit like peace, and that's-

Perfect.

 

  
Connor's internal alarm jerks him into wakefulness approximately five minutes before Hank is supposed to call, and the wave of fatigue that crashes upon him when he sits up is almost enough to send him back down, systems stalling as he seriously considers going back into sleep mode. But he needs to be awake, needs to talk to Hank, do his job, so he jerks the charger from his ports, puts his feet on the ground. Heaves himself to his feet, stepping over his shirt, pooled on the floor next to his bed.

He boots up the laptop, punches in his serial number and pin, and settles into the desk chair, running a hand through his hair. A quick glance at his email shows that even while he's been asleep, his workload has only increased; whatever dent he'd made in it earlier is almost entirely erased. It'd be irritating, if Connor wasn't used to it; sometimes it feels like he and Hank do more paperwork than actual detective work most of the time. Which, if he bothered to calculate, is probably true- but that truth is a little too depressing to dwell on, especially now.

Idly, Connor pulls a quarter out from his pants pocket, rolling it over his knuckles. According to his debrief, Hank should call from his burner phone directly to his computer, but knowing Hank- and his inability to use technology despite growing up in the most recent technological renaissance in human history- he'll be late, probably due to the fact that he can't just hit Connor's name on his contacts and call him directly.

His hypothesis is proven correct when the line connects exactly four minutes after Hank's scheduled time. Connor answers quickly, fighting to keep his tone even despite his immense amusement.

"This is Connor," he says, and Hank blows out a gusty sigh into the line, clearly irritated.

"Of course it fuckin' is, who else would I be calling with this stupid phone? Status report," Hank grumbles, and Connor summarizes the past few hours- almost 24, at this point- quickly, though he leaves out Markus' piano playing and his charging debacle.

"Any word on how long we're going to be out here? There really isn't that much to do," Connor says, and has to hold back a sigh as Hank guffaws, loud and cheerful.

"What, they didn't pack any board games for ya? Why don't you read one of those millions of books you've got stored in your fancy brain. Or y'know, rest and recuperate in case something happens. Take it easy," Hank replies, "like it's a vacation."

Connor blinks, leaning back in his chair. "A vacation in a safe house where we're hiding from a terrorist organization. I don't know what kind of vacations you've been taking, Hank, but this certainly isn't what I'd call a 'restful situation'. We really have no leads on this? Even after almost twenty-four hours of investigation?"

Hank heaves out a sigh, and Connor can picture him- probably sitting in their new office downstairs, privacy walls up- and it makes him feel-

Lonely. Incredibly lonely.

"It's the feds' case now, unfortunately. FBI came and plucked it out of our hands once everything settled down here. It's DPD's job to protect Markus and his fellow politicians while they figure out who the Hell HERA really is. You might...you might be stuck out there a while, son. I'll try and get it set up with whoever's in charge to get you guys a drop of stuff to do besides work and stress if I can. Maybe some chess or cards or something." Hank sounds...tired. Connor wishes that the burner phone came equipped with a camera, just so he can make sure Hank looks okay; if he doesn't check on him, who will?

"Thanks, Hank. Anything else to report?"

"Nah. I'm sure we'll have more news for you tomorrow; make sure you're checking your email. I saw all the paperwork you got done earlier today- make sure you're taking it easy, hmm?"

"I'll do my best. Pet Sumo for me, please," Connor replies, and Hank grunts before disconnecting the line. He feels...He's not sure if he feels better or worse after that. It was inevitable that the FBI take over the case once it took on a more national scale- and logically, they're the best people to investigate. But- and maybe it's hubris, or ignorance- he wants to be out there, helping, because he knows that if he was given the tools and the time he could figure it out.

But his duty now is to protect Markus. He'll have to do what he can from here.

He gets to his feet, shutting down the computer. Opens his door. It's quiet- and when Connor peeks into the living room, Markus isn't there. In his own room, then, and since the door is closed Connor leaves him be. He glances out the back door- dark, and given that it's nearly 22:00 that makes sense- before opening the door to the basement. It appears to be finished, carpeted stairs and painted walls, and he doesn't bother flicking on the stairwell light as he descends.

He does turn on the main light once he hits the landing, revealing hardwood floors like the floor above and one room, built into the wall directly under Markus'. The saferoom, equipped with all manner of electronic and physical locks, checks, and defenses. He glances inside- a small couch and a long table are the only furniture; on the table is a silver briefcase, two additional Cyberlife chargers, and a large, black bag. He steps inside, curious.

The briefcase has a palm reader as a lock, and Connor places his hand on it; when it clicks open, revealing a mass of papers and clipped bills, he tilts his head. Funds in four different currencies, the majority being in dollars, and fake papers- passports, IDs, and Cyberlife certificates. In case they have to flee, then. He closes it, storing the information in his memory.

The black bag is zippered shut, and when Connor opens it he's unsurprised to find that inside are yet more clothes, dark and subtle, and three unloaded Glocks, ammunition stored carefully next to them. Standard-issue, 15 rounds. Enough ammunition for all three and then some. Connor pulls one out, loads it. Checks the safety. It feels like bad luck to take one, but he's never been a believer in the supernatural; any suspicion he has of it is largely due to Hank. So he takes it.

He closes the door behind him, engaging the security lock. The rest of the basement is empty save for a few chairs pushed against the far wall and, oddly, a pinball machine- powered off, not plugged in. Probably leftover from when the house actually functioned as a living space. Connor turns away, flicking off the light as the ascends.

He puts the gun on his desk.

Connor bends down to grab the bag of clothes from the floor, tearing it open to reveal a pack of white t-shirts, several pairs of neutral grey sweats, socks, sensible running shoes, a singular black button-down, a belt- with a holster, to tuck the gun at his back- and, oddly, a package of black briefs. Whoever prepared this had obviously forgotten that androids did not require undergarments; he stores the information, head tilting. It's surprising, considering the rest of the place is set up to accommodate androids, not human residents.

He pulls one of the white t-shirts on, then wanders back out into the living room.

Opens the back door.

The backyard is fenced in by trees, thick and luscious green even in the darkness; there's a small cement patio that leads directly onto the grass, slightly clogged with weeds and various plantlife. His scanners can't detect anything beyond the initial foliage barrier; likely buried scanner scramblers. The trees directly behind the house seem to lead into a small wooded grove, rare even this far from the city; if worse comes to worse, Connor supposes, they can run out through there.

He sits down, legs crossed, and stares up at the sky; there are no answers there, nothing to help his immediate situation, but he finds it-

Calming, to watch the night bleed in, a rare view of stars above. The light pollution from the city only brightens the furthest scope of his vision, offering darkness to the sky directly above; he can trace the slow turn of the Earth, track the movements of clouds and stars, and it's...Good.

He'll only stay out for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :')  
> thanks for all the kudos, comments, bookmarks, and for sticking around, guys! i'm still gnawing through some necessary plot and getting some stuff out of the way, so apologies once again for a particularly tame chapter.


	7. i'm hoping you'll come back to me

Hank Anderson is by no means the most clingy man on the planet, but he fucking misses his adopted-but-not-really android-partner-son-friend. Connor's been nothing but a godsend since tumbling into his good graces via his kitchen window over two years ago. He's good with Sumo, remembers all his medication, does his fucking _laundry_ \- even if it pisses him off to no end- and now that he's gone Hank can feel his absence like a bruise, and just like a bruise, he can't help but poke at it. He's a grown-ass adult- he should know better than to let himself sit at home and think about what kind of danger Connor's put himself in this time. Connor's lack of self-awareness and self-preservation has always worried him but now that Hank can't actually scold Connor when he does something stupid and selfless, his anxiety has increased tenfold.

And it's not like they're making any progress with the case, either. Markus and Connor have been stuck out in rural Michigan for almost a week now, and his daily calls with Connor have devolved from actual updates to wellness checks out of sheer concern that they're going to go insane in that house. Not that Hank hasn't tried his best- DPD actually got them a drop of stuff to do, but picking out pastimes for androids was absolutely no one's specialty. Hank'd recommended chess.

Not that Connor's complained of being bored or anything- he's too damn noble for that, and since Hank's spoken to Markus all of one time since this entire debacle began, he can't really gauge how either of them are really doing, sanity-wise. Knowing Connor, though, they'll probably be fine for at least a little while longer. Damn android was probably the most stubborn person Hank'd ever met, outside himself.

Hank sighs, glaring out his windshield. He's been sitting in his car, parked on his driveway, for about half an hour, avoiding going inside to an empty house. If anyone had told him a few years ago that he'd be _lonely_ because his android partner is off on babysitting-bodyguard duty, he'd have laughed, and laughed, and laughed- but it's true. Damnably true. He can't sit out here forever, even if he wants to, though- Sumo's probably anxious, wondering where he is, and if he starts causing a racket his neighbors will lose their collective shit like they always do.

He gets out of the car, trudges up to the front door. Lets himself in, slamming a palm over Connor's godforsaken security system when it blares; Sumo bounds over, bark dying to a quiet _boof_ when he sees that it's him.

"Yeah, yeah. Just me," Hank grumbles, kicking the door shut behind him as he goes to check Sumo's bowls. Still full enough that he doesn't feel like bothering with it at the moment; instead, he meanders into the kitchen, grabs a beer from the fridge. Pops the cap on the edge of the countertop.

It's fucked up that he misses Connor's nagging. Damn android never lets him drink in peace- and with Jimmy's Bar closed permanently, well. He drinks at home, these days, when he _does_ drink, and that means that Connor gets ample time to give him a verbal beatdown about his terrible life choices. And he _misses_ it- which means he's probably suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.

Flopping down on the couch, Hank flips on the TV- muted, of course, subtitles on- and pulls out his phone. Not the burner phone, tempting as it might be to break protocol and pester Connor, but his regular one. Checks his texts and emails. Nothing too new, and now he's exhausted his entertainment for the night. All he has left are reruns and beer, and that's… incredibly sad. How the mighty have fallen. It's frustrating.

This entire situation has him frustrated, really- Connor putting himself in danger over and over, then vanishing with Markus into hopeful anonymity to hide from a _terrorist organization…_ Hank's just glad that Markus seems to share his sentiments about Connor's lack of self-preservation. In fact, now that he's thinking about it-

What was with them, anyway? If it was anyone else but Connor, Hank would say he's got a _crush_ on the android leader. But maybe that's not fair- Connor's a Real Boy now, shiny new feelings and all, has been for years now. Hank's never seen him jealous of or particularly _interested_ in anyone- or, well, not until recently. The glances were the first tell. Connor was always...Looking. Watching. More than he usually does- which is saying a lot. But it could've just been the case.

He'd thought it was, at first. Connor had a habit of getting absorbed, in over his head- leftover programming, a desire to always accomplish his mission. Hank had dismissed it, at first, but Simon had reached out and touched Markus, so casually, and sparked a stillness in Connor that Hank hadn't seen since his awakening. His responses to Simon's questions had been...Eye-opening.

'I don't think Markus has looked bad once since I've met him', Connor had said, and he'd meant it. Connor had been _thinking_ about it. Categorized Markus as attractive, and kept tabs on his assessment. And the way he'd tensed, gotten that swallowed-a-frog look when Simon and Markus had answered the door together before even that. Jealousy, from an android. Incredible.

It bears some thinking about, but the idea of Connor falling for anyone, even someone as even-keeled and _good_ as Markus is, has him scowling into the middle distance. He doesn't know how he feels about Connor being...romantic? Attracted? It's a strange thought. It's certainly a first for the android, and now that he's thinking about it- he's concerned. They've been alone out there for almost a week and a half; he can't help but think- but wonder-

If Markus felt the same way about Connor, what would that even mean? He knows that androids can fall in love- Hell, he's seen it firsthand- but Markus is a politician and Connor is…Connor.

He has no fucking clue what to think, really, but he knows people who might have some input. Android people. Simon had punched his number into Hank's phone right before they parted ways- Hank to return to work and Simon to go into protective custody. Maybe it's time he actually called him, though how he'll bring the subject up he has no idea. Maybe he'll just flat-out ask. Simon had seemed on board with the whole thing- or, at least, had seemed curious- so it probably wouldn't hurt. Probably.

Calling an android for advice on whether or not his android son and the _leader_ of the android people have feelings for each other. While they're in hiding from a terrorist organization. This… This is his life now, whether he likes it or not. Karma.

Hank tilts the bottle back and drains it.

  
  


"Check," Markus murmurs, setting his knight down. Connor scowls, brows drawing together as he analyzes the board; Markus is somehow, despite Connor's own far superior processors, beating him into the proverbial dirt. In all the games they've played today, Connor's managed to take a measly seven wins off of him, and he can't figure out _why_.

He shifts his bishop over, claiming Markus' knight, and settles back, arms crossed. Markus glances at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, and in one fell swoop of his rook puts him in check again. Connor runs a quick analysis of his possible moves and, when none come up satisfactory, flicks his king over with a resigned huff.

"I don't understand how I've lost over seventy percent of our games," he grumbles, and Markus gives in to his mirth, chuckling low and deep as he picks up their pieces. They've been playing for a few hours, backs pressed against opposite sides of the hallway with the chess set in between; it's… nice. Their games are strangely intimate, have been ever since they got the drop Hank had arranged, and it's different than any other intrapersonal relationship Connor has ever been in.

Not that Connor's been in many, but he's a supercomputer with terabytes of data at his disposal- he can draw conclusions.

Markus heaves himself to his feet, holds out a hand to help Connor up; unnecessary, but Connor takes it anyway. Markus' hand is warm and strong against his as he's levered into a standing position. Markus moves to release him, fingers dragging against the sensors on his palm, and the contact is- it's- it's nice, comforting, in a way, after so long away from the one person that Connor _does_ touch, is touched by-

Though it's not the same. Hank's casual affection and acceptance of Connor's lack of personal boundaries doesn't stir up the same...emotion? The same thrill that runs down his spine, electric, processors whirring and programs scrambling. It's heady, what Connor imagines addiction could feel like, and-

They're in the hallway of a safehouse, hiding from terrorists bent on destroying everything they've worked for these past two years.

"I- Sorry. I don't know what came over me," he says, pathetic, excuse flat even to his ears.

He makes his fingers respond, loosening the grip he didn't realize he had on Markus' hand. Markus, however, doesn't move, expression inscrutable. His hand is warm, very warm, in Connor's. Connor watches his skin melt back to white plastic as Markus initiates a connection, and he opens the floodgates of his mind, helpless to resist.

Markus' hand moves slowly, tracing the lines of thirium veins beneath Connor's skin, the sensors that are embedded there, and as he moves his fingers up Connor's arm, he sends a sense of- wonder. Interest. More than curiosity, compounded by the enjoyment he gets from Connor's reactions. And Connor- reacts. A tiny voice- a program, logic, something- in the back of his head notes the sensations, clinically and calmly, analyzes the way his subroutines and processes absorb the information, react to the stimuli. Records it all, stores it away.

The touch feels...good. His programs give a reward response for every brush of skin on skin, a satisfaction. Connor was not built with pleasure in mind- he is not a human. He  is a machine, a computer, programs and wires and energy given form, but no, that's not right. Not anymore.

 _More_ , Markus says, and his hand is tracing the line of Connor's shoulder through his white t-shirt, the sharp cut of his jaw. _You are more than the sum of your parts. A complex system of machine and soul. Human, yet not- you are different. Not better or worse, but separate. You feel this,_ Markus murmurs, nails scraping the sensors around Connor's ear, sending a wash of hot-cold shivers down his spine. _You feel this._

Another hand, pressing against the panel above his thirium pump, over where his heart would be if he were human, if he had one, and Markus walks him a step back, against the wall.

"Markus, I-"

A finger, pressed against his lips, and Connor quiets, feedback loops of sensation ringing through his biocomponents. Markus' skin is dry, clean, and he wants-

To taste-

 

An alarm blares through their connection, silent yet strident and entirely shocking, and Connor is moving, programs screeching and time dilating around him as he processes information at high speed. An intruder has just attempted to hack the lock, setting off the security alarms they'd connected to their systems; though he can't track the progress without his connection to his databases, he can estimate that they have minutes before whatever- whoever- is outside gets in.

He pushes Markus down the hall, gestures at Markus' door; the other android goes, silent and quick, and Connor ducks into his room. The gun is still on his desk, and he grabs it, tucks it into the waistband of his sweats. Taps his computer, downloading the files and then clearing them before slamming his hand down, shattering it. It might still not be enough. He shoves his bare feet into shoes, locks the door with a touch as he leaves. Locks Markus' door. Throws open the back door, then slides into the basement stairwell, gently closing the door as he hears the front door's lock click open.

They've been found.

Connor slams his palm into the lightswitch, shattering it, and throws himself down the stairs as quietly as he can, moving swiftly through the darkness. They have minutes.

He moves the couch in front of the stairs, then taps the door to the saferoom; it swings open, and Connor slides inside, engaging the security locks. Markus is inside, tucking one of the two remaining Glocks into his waistband, the other in hand; he's got one of the Cyberlife chargers under his free arm. He nods shortly at him, grabbing the briefcase on the table before checking the wall panel the hidden stairwell is behind. It should be undetectable to humans and most androids. Markus reaches out, grips his shoulder. _What's our plan?_

_If they come down here, go up. Get out. I will distract them._

Markus shakes his head savagely. _We both go, or we both fight,_ he says, and Connor would be frustrated, furious, if he had time. Markus is the target; protecting him is his job. Everything else comes secondary. But if Markus won't obey orders, he can adapt- he will adapt. He pulls Markus back, puts his body in front of his.

 _Fine_ , he says, devising a new plan. _Both of us. We'll run- go out the back, into the woods. If we get separated, I will find you._

He feels Markus' pulse of understanding. _How did they find us?_

Connor has no answer, not immediately; he's too busy listening, auditory components straining. The intruders are still upstairs. They've barely moved beyond the front door, but there are at least three- all human, if the unevenness of their gait is to be believed. _I don't know. We've been careful-_

Markus' grip on his shoulder tightens. _The drop,_ he says, and Connor freezes. _Someone on the inside._

The idea is too plausible to deny. DPD might not be safe. He needs to warn Hank, needs to get out of here, get Markus to safety. Running into the woods seems like the safest bet; it's dark as pitch outside, and once through the initial treeline they should be difficult to track. But they have to get out of the house first, and if there are reinforcements outside they will have to be fast- and accurate. Connor reaches, grabs the spare clips of ammunition from the table.

The footsteps above pause where Connor knows is the entrance to his own room; one of the three breaks off to walk inside while the other two keep moving forward, deliberately and slowly.

Another breaks off to look inside Markus' room, directly above them, and Connor freezes, listening intently. If they find the stairwell, they'll have to run out through the basement, which has a significantly higher probability of leading to failure; if they can sneak out through Markus' room while at least one of the intruders going down to the basement their odds increase almost twofold.

He feels something like relief when the footsteps only pause in the room above for a moment before continuing down the hall into the living room. The other two sets follow. _When one of them starts descending, open the stairwell,_ he instructs, and Markus sends an affirmative. A few tense seconds pass, and then- Connor hears the door to the basement open.

Markus moves, quicksilver-fast, and Connor follows a breath later, ducking into the stairwell. He closes the panel behind him, then takes the stairs two at a time. Markus is waiting at the top, head tilted as he listens; when he determines that the coast is clear, he slides open the door and walks silently to the slightly-open door to the hallway. Connor closes the stairwell behind them, gently pulls the door to the hall more open, just enough to squeeze out. Markus goes first, and Connor follows, glancing down the hall- no one. They must all be in the basement. The front door is ajar, though he can't make out anything of note directly outside. He turns, tucking the briefcase under his arm as he prepares to run.

Markus is outside, and Connor's halfway there, when he hears a shout, the bark of a gun- and he turns, catches the bullet in his shoulder instead of his back. A figure bursts out of the basement stairway, mere feet behind him. Connor reaches back with his free hand, jerks the gun out from his sweats, clicks the safety off the Glock as he swings it around, and fires once, twice, a bullet blooming between human eyes. As the body falls, he turns, following Markus out the door and into the woods.

He hears the other humans begin to pursue and picks up his pace, pushing himself faster, faster, ducking around tree trunks and jumping over logs and uneven ground. Markus sprints ahead, barely discernible in the darkness, and Connor is gaining, that much faster. They'll break into the other side of the small copse of trees soon, and Connor pulls up a map of the area from his downloaded files. If they head west, they'll run further into rural Michigan; it could be a solution, but they'd have to charge eventually. They might pass some houses, could get lucky and find a place to bunk down and rest. But if they go back into the city, they'll have everything they need. He'll be able to warn Hank himself, use DPD's resources.

But DPD might have a mole.

Markus pauses at the treeline, and Connor skids to a stop next to him.

"West," he says, voice low, and Markus frowns, clearly following his train of thought. "We don't know if DPD has been infiltrated. We can figure everything out on the way."

They turn, as one, and start running again, along the trees.

Connor can only hope he's made the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge huge huge huge thanks to my beta [sirea](http://augur-of-ebrietas.tumblr.com/), she is an angel and also my sensei and made this chapter about 800x better than it was when i pushed it at her in defeat
> 
> also....hello friends :)  
> we're getting somewhere maybe?  
> maybe.
> 
> ALSO, 1k kudos b a b e y! let me know what kind of dbh porns i should write to celebrate. i'm open to p much all ships/suggestions so don't be scared friends. if you don't wanna comment here you can always [send me an ask](http://corvidan.tumblr.com/ask)!


End file.
